


the fall

by ThatOneSmolFangirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop, Fallen Angels, Heaven & Hell, Hurt Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneSmolFangirl/pseuds/ThatOneSmolFangirl
Summary: we all know crowley simply sauntered vaguely downwards, but i’m a sucker for angst and decided to write a scenario where he was cast out,,,enjoy?





	the fall

_“did it hurt?”_

you can tell in the way he bites his lip after saying it that maybe he’s afraid of the answer. you don’t blame him. how could you.

you’d be afraid too.

and you’ve never liked thinking about it.

the fall.

in fact, you spent most of your life trying to forget it. 

but maybe it’s worth it. for him. 

you’re starting to think anything would be worth it for him.

so you look up at him and close your eyes, trying to think back before you knew him. it’s hard. but you get their eventually.

and just like that, every night spent trying to forget it - the incident - soars out the window, and you’re right back where you started. crouched over, kneeling before the person you’d devoted your life too.

the person you helped to create reality. and you did help, you really did.

you’d pulled hopes and dreams from the purest souls, sharpened them into diamonds, and scattered them throughout the universe. leaving them as lights for those who needed to find their way home. you took colors from the deepest parts of the ocean and used them to design the sky. your hands never stopped moving, never stopped creating.

maybe that was your own downfall.

but somewhere in your gut, you can feel what’s about to happen. maybe you’d always known. somehow. that you did too much too quickly, didn’t let the humans make their own mistakes, in favor of testing the limits of your powers of creation. 

used the world as your own sketchbook. 

it doesn’t stop you from uttering an almost inaudible ‘why?’

They don’t respond at first. and then They do. and you wish They hadn’t. 

_you go too fast for us_

and as soon as the words are out of Their mouth, you start to realize you’ve heard your last words as an angel.

and then it begins 

you barely have a chance to open your mouth to speak, barely able to utter a sound of surprise. it’s hard to even pinpoint what you were surprised about. maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have a chance to speak. 

you don’t know what you’d ask. or if you ever wanted answer

but then you see the lightning, racing towards you like it’d always been made for this exact purpose. maybe it had. you wouldn’t know.

and then it hits your chest.

the strength of God, backed up with all the power in the universe.

 

oh.

and you can’t help but think this must be how an ant feels when a child stands above it with nothing but a magnifying glass and the sun. the helplessness that one would feel. 

and it’s so much more than pain. it’s beyond the point of even attempting to rationalize it. but you try anyway. cause if you don’t, you think you might just lose your mind.

you can feel every fibre of your being begin to boil, your body turning in on itself, desperately trying to end it. end the pain. end everything. end anything.

and you’ve never asked for mercy in your life, but you’re begging now.

hoping, pleading, _praying_. for anything to save you. but nothing comes

nothing but the pain and the terror.

and it scares you because you know you’d do anything to make it stop. every moral, every promise, every oath you’ve ever made turns to ash in the fire surrounding your body. you’d trade anyone’s life, anything you’d made, anything.

you know in that moment, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to stop it. and that terrifies you to your very core.

but it’s useless. and you can still see the fire out of the corner of your eyes, growing bigger and brighter with every move you make.

it burns like each individual flame sought out a singular cell in your body, and was hellbent on destroying it.

you can’t breathe. you can’t even think. your body can’t even shut down because it thinks you’ve already died. you suppose it could be right.

all you know is the pain coursing through your veins, and the angelic magic keeping you from going completely insane. and you know it doesn’t make sense but you start to think you are the pain. that it’s completely enveloped you, destroying what makes you you.

and you know the fire isn’t normal. you know it’s hellfire.

burning away what makes—what made you an angel.

but then you think maybe, just maybe, it’s beginning to stop. you begin to hear your thoughts again, fuzzy and unclear, but still there. you feel the fire starting to slow the assault on your body. and you start to think maybe God has taken mercy on you. forgiven you for your mistakes. your sins.

and then the pain doubles.

ripping, tearing, clawing away at your wings. stripping the feathers from your body as carelessly as picking apples from a tree.

cleaving every ounce of angelic magic from your bones, and leaving trails of blood down your back like scars. marks of a life left far behind you. and even millennia into the future, the marks never truly fade. but you never let them show, knowing they show the lowest point in your life. both as angel and demon.

you start to think maybe there’s no such thing as God. 

cause nothing and no one that claimed to be good could ever do this. sever your wings from your body like they’d never been there in the first place. like you’d never been there

and you know you shouldn’t be able to think, but you can’t help but devote the fraction of your mind that’s left to a singular promise.

save them.

save the humans. 

so you promise to protect them in any way you can. even if that means getting someone else to do it for you. you’d do what you have to do.

and as quickly as it started, the pain stops.

and then you’re falling.

 

falling

 

falling

and you can feel the air rushing through the mutilated remains of your wings. every breeze a fresh wound against your body. a constant reminder that you lost your wings. lost yourself. lost everything.

forever.

but you manage to open your eyes anyway. and you can see the clouds growing smaller and smaller as you plummet downwards. see the crimson orange and red lights following you as you plunge out of the light and into the dark.

and your first thought is that there’s more fire after you. 

but then you realize why you’re wrong. 

and you’re almost calm.

you’re on fire.

you’re falling from heaven, wings on fire, leaving a trail of flames through the night sky.

which is when you realize you’re afraid. for the first time in your life, you’re terrified. not of falling, but of hitting the ground.

but you keep your eyes open. cause that’s all you have.

and you can see the sky as you fall. growing gradually lighter, and then darker again as you pass the mortal plane. go beyond in.

and you can’t help but feel like you’re being buried alive.

but you know you’re in hell. you can feel it the second the heat hits you.

the second you hit the ground. 

and it burns. oh god (no) it burns.

burns every ounce of stardust, every silk cloth, and every white feather off your body.

it hurts, you know it does. and you can see yourself screaming, almost as if you’re watching yourself from heaven. just another angel again.

watching what you’ve become. 

but as your screaming begins to fade, you feel yourself sink back into your body. no matter how much you try to scramble back up, you’re stuck on the ground. 

you can feel the slashes where your wings used to be. feel the fire still burning in your veins, like your blood had fizzled into liquid electricity, lighting your body up from the inside. an electrical conductor of angelic and demonic energy.

and your eyes are open again. wide open. one last screw you to the heavens. 

and you can feel the difference as your reborn for the second time.

not as an angel. not as a human

but as a demon.

 

and all of a sudden you’re back. back in the present, on a couch in the middle of a humble bookshop in the middle of London. and you shake your head restlessly, trying to clear the memories from your mind.

maybe one of these days it’ll work.

and he asks you again, somehow even quieter this time, _‘did it hurt?’_

you offer him a small smile. and you do what demons do best.

_‘not at all’_

lie.

**Author's Note:**

> pls lemme know what you think of this, it’s kinda outside my comfort zone!


End file.
